


Wicked Games

by SkylaRose



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Broken Heart, Donut is a hack in the sack, Driver Ed, F/M, Hidden song references, Inspired by Music, It has a storyline but I know why you’re here, Re-teaching Driver Ed, Season 2 AU, Shameless Smut, Wicked Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylaRose/pseuds/SkylaRose
Summary: The world was on fire no one could save me but you,Strange what desire will make foolish people do.-Chris IsaakOriginally I wanted to use the HIM version of this song, but my mind always went back to Chris. There are a few other musical influences in this story and a sneaky homage to a movie or two.A little bit of a rewrite for Driver Ed..... although it may not be the ending you want.  I wrote the last paragraph first.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 30
Kudos: 35





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sh_ua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh_ua/gifts).



> Originally a one shot, I have split it into two chapters. The first half has been ready to go for a while. The second half is almost done, but I’m still tinkering. So for Sh_ua, this is for you. Thank you for messaging me and asking me to post something!

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you_

Logan stumbles. Anchoring himself against the door jamb. Key card in hand. Stuttering at the lock. His hand, uncoordinated. Inebriated. Frustrated. Finally. The key engages. As the door is wrenched open from the inside. He slumps into the architrave, blocking the momentum of his fall.

Sharp eyes watch him. Taking in the sight.  _The_ _Jackass_. Wasted. Eyes bloodshot. No white to be discerned. Alcohol diffusing through his pores. Unsteady on normally graceful feet.

He settles into a contrived, nonchalant, lean. Eyes focus. Taking in the reason for his stumble.  _Fuck_. Every turn he makes.  She is there. Mocking. Watching. She isn’t there for him.  _Not anymore_. The ghost of girlfriends past. Now blissfully tied once again to his best friend.

“Rrronnicaaarrrr.” Sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “What an unpleasant surprise.” His voice hostile. “It must be my birthday or something,” he slurs. “I never have much luck with those.” Almost whispered. Confessional. Regretting the concession, he doubles down. Voice acidic. Set for maximum damage. “So, had your fun with Donut, then?” Eyebrow raised. Questioning. “Now, let me guess?” Tapping tapered finger, against chin. “Whilst Sleeping Beauty rests, The Evil Queen, vanishes under the cover of darkness? Time to scurry home. Wouldn’t want Daddy finding out sweet, pure Veronica, isn’t so pure,” he finishes mercilessly.

She pushes past him. The scent of disgust rolling off her. “Fuck off, Logan,” she mutters tersely. “Lucked out on pinning down, Mrs Robinson, I see. No back-up bimbo?,” she spits out fiercely.

He turns and grabs her arm as she exits. A current pulses through him. He lightens his pressure. Large hand circling slender wrist. Thumb caressing. Moving to the beat of an ever quickening pulse.  _It's strange what desire will make foolish people do_. He pulls her closer. Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Fingers tracing her cheekbone. She leans into the touch. Eyelashes shuttering over dilated pupils. This. This is  _his_ Veronica. Eager to be touched. Held. Loved. Through the whiskey haze, he can pinpoint the moment he loses her again.

Comprehension dawns in her eyes. Pupils constrict. Eyes narrow. Hardened slits. She recoils. Snatching her arm back in the same motion. Rubbing fiercely at the point of contact. As to remove the memory of his touch. “Go find your Laker Girl to manhandle.” Turning on her heel. Stalking to elevator. Angrily stabbing the call button.

He watches as the doors open. He leers at her. The thrill of touching her already abating. It deepens his heartbreak hangover. Crashing from the high of touching her. _The_ _Veronica Hangover_. It never abates. It will never evaporate. So he covers it. Pretends it’s not there. Not impairing him in every way possible. Impotent. To cover his blunder to harden his resolve. He meets her gaze as she turns. Now ensconced in the golden, mirrored glow of the elevator. It always amazes him how quickly he sobers in her presence. How the awareness of her consumes. Out running the alcohol. The pills. The pretty white lines. Conquering his bloodstream. A drug like no other. With a bravado he doesn’t truly feel. More a bandaid to his soul. He laconically throws out the line. “FYI, if cuddling is the best part. He didn’t do it right.” Timing it perfectly to the closing doors. _Victory_. The last word. Her eyes snap to his. The doors kiss. She is gone.

He saw it. The acknowledgment. Veronica Mars. Low slung denim and butch boots. So desperate to be vanilla. Normal. To blend. So desperate, she’s willing to accept mediocrity. The middle. Never reaching new heights. Never feeling the drive that comes from hitting rock bottom. Denying passion. Need. Pleasure. It was all there in that look. An awareness. An awareness of him. The passion they had. The pleasure he gave her. Guilt for not being happy with the Prince she believed she wanted. Fixed in the disorienting moment of that last look upon her face, he compels his feet to move.  _It may be what you think you want Mars. But it’s definitely not what you need._

  
Disheveled and disorientated. Slow feet. Awkward steps. He makes his way to his room. Trying to dispel his need for her. Empty bed. Rumpled sheets. No Bimbo. No Laker Girl. He blames the song. Blames Veronica. If not for both, he would be in bed with said bimbo, but no. The song and Veronica ruined it.

* * *

A bar. Dark. Dingy. A step up from a dive, if you squinted. A girl at the jukebox quarter in hand. Hair stretching past bare shoulder blades. Chestnut. Artificial curl. Hips swinging, making her choice. Quarter placed. Song selected. The opening strains of it ring out over the bar. A sad lonely electric guitar. His stomach plummets. Desire vanishes.  


She smiles a toothy grin. Making her way back to him. Adding more sway, in time to the soulful music. All he can see is her features morph. Chestnut becomes gold. Grey eyes to clear blue. A rush of air pushes through his teeth. He needs to get out of here. Cock-blocked by a song. By a memory of a girl who no longer acknowledges him. The words surround him. Pushing into his foggy mind.

_ The world was on fire and no one could save me but you _

_ It's strange what desire will make foolish people do _

_ I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you _

In this moment he allows them to consume him. His memory of her. A time,when all she wanted was him. That time is over. He steels himself. Trying to focus on the inviting body before him. He could have her. All he needed was to ask. To crook his finger. Give a salacious grin. _But_. There’s always a but. The but had a name. That name was Veronica.

Rising from the booth. He stepped towards the girl. _The B_ _ut __had a name. This girl. Did she have a name? What was her name?_ It didn’t matter now. He had to go. Out run the ghost. She steps towards him. Mischief in her eyes. Reaching for him. He catches her wrists. Before she could anchor to him. He lowers their arms. She tilts her head.  _Not the right angle_. He releases her. Walks to the bar. Drops a hundred, on the hastily wiped surface. It sticks. Leaning over he snatches a bottle of amber liquid. And walks into the night.

* * *

  
  
He stirs. Restless. Fully clothed. Belted heavy denim. Anchoring to muscled thigh. Button fly, sans briefs. Increasing his unease. Torso tangled in green cashmere. Temples thumping. Brain contracting. Alcohol pushing through him still. Chased by dehydration. Slowing his senses. What woke him?

He closes his eyes. Pressing his lids together, hard. Concentrating, through the throb of his head. He’s not alone. On alert. Panic rising. Suddenly sober. The bed dips. A familiar scent. Rich florals with vanilla undertones. And something coconut. _What the fuck?_ Flailing arm engages with the lamp. Cool blue toned light. Battles against the darkness. Light diffuses over the bed. Him. And Veronica.

White shirt under leather jacket. A hint of something dark below the shirt. Belted, low slung denim. A stretch of skin above the buckle. His fingers itch to touch. Elbows push into the mattress. Leveraging himself from his supine position. She has his focus.

“‘Ronica? What are you doing here? You know this is  my room? You were just in Donuts before. You’re in the wrong room.”

“No. I’m in the right room.”

Cotton-mouthed. Slack jawed. Remembering the barbs thrown in the doorway, mere hours before . “What the fuck?” almost under his breath. “What game are you playing?”

Blue gaze assesses. “No games. Not anymore. Donut has been the game. But...he doesn’t make me forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You.” Challenging look. “You, were right, you know?” A concession.

“Back the bus up. I was right? Me? Logan “Jackass” Echolls?” He shouldn’t bait her. He was having too much fun. His favourite form of foreplay. Pushing her buttons. Watching her bristle. Eyes squinting. Nostrils flaring. Electricity flares around them. “You, are saying, I, was right. The great, all seeing, all knowing, Wizard of Neptune, Veronica Mars, declares me right!” The buzz he felt having her so close. Euphoria. Heightened ego. Hard on. “And what pray tell am I right about? My devilish good looks? My command of the English language? My sexual prowess?“ Eyebrow quirks. Skin flushes. Lips thin. Acknowledgment. She looks set to run. Her frantic gaze meets his steady one. She relaxes under it. Flight replaced by fight. Her body shivers. A physical armouring. Decision made.

Leather hits the floor. She crawls up his body. Feline. Slow. Methodical. Dipping through her shoulders. Teasing him with the view. Shirt unbuttoned below what was decent. Emerald lace. Offsetting pearly skin. The lace cut low. A glimpse of deeper pink. Puckered and taut. The lace no barrier to the obvious arousal. Her eyes bore into him.

_ Where has this come from_ . She was insatiable. Uninhibited. Initiating the game. Demanding. Assured. He likes this Veronica. She knew what she wanted. He never doubted she knew her own mind. The change was that she could voice it. Confidence. Agency. The balance of power has shifted. He no longer has the upper hand. She controls this. He was there for her. Her alone. To be used as she pleased. And he would allow it. Be what she needs. To find her passion. Her pleasure. Her power. It could destroy him.

In many ways she is just as toxic as Lilly. Lilly was overt. Calculated. A dagger to the heart. Veronica. Zero emotional intelligence. Subtle. Pervasive. Her own demons sending poisonous fingers into those around her. Unintentional. Her quarrel with herself, barricading her marshmallow centre. A chard, impenetrable crust.

_ What a wicked game to play to make me feel this way _

Sitting, he halts her progress. Large hands. Pushing against a tiny frame. “What are you doing?” She tries to look away. He angles his head. Forcing her to look at him. He needs her to say it. “Say it. Out loud.”

Veronica pushes him back. Continues her climb. Reaching the juncture of his thighs. Pausing. Pressing. Straddling one leg. To lean in. Hard against him. Pushing down against his thigh. Her own rocking up into him. Dry humping him through his jeans. The buttons of his fly cutting. Stars bloom across his vision. The enticing mix of pleasure and pain. The headiness of it. Mixing with the liquor. Creating a sensation that he wanted to chase down. Yet pull away from. The headiness of her. Choosing him. Inspiring the same. Stay. Leave. Hands at her hip. Halting her grind. “Say it!” The words rushing out. Teeth clenched. “Why are you here?” He needs her to say something. Say anything. To ease his mind. Her boyfriend in the next room. He needed to hear her say it. To stake her claim. So he could stake his.

Her face scrunches in frustration. He can see her mind turn. Behind blue rimmed pupils. Her eyes dark. Pacific waters post storm. Pupils shot with need. Chest rising. As too much air is sucked in. Air rushing back. Thickening the atmosphere. “I want normal.” Exasperation. “Wanted normal.” Correction. “Normal is bland. I don’t think I’m built to be bland. Not anymore. Too much has happened. To me. To you. Between us.” She sounds almost resigned. “I need you. All this,” indicating the space between them. “All this anger. This banter. The byplay, we have around Duncan. He doesn’t see it. He wants me in yellow cotton. I’m not that. Not anymore. Even a year of hating you, it was there. The foreplay. I live for the buzz of the barbs we throw. What does that tell you? What sort of person does that make me?” Her face ripples with guilt. “I have what I want. What I wanted....and now. And now, it doesn’t fit. No matter how I try to blunt myself. I’ve sidelined myself. I need back in the game.” She strokes her nose up his neck. Inhaling him as she goes. A darting lick to his earlobe, before biting down. Has him shiver. Lips on the shell of his ear. “Let me back in the game, Lo.” Darting tongue. Tracing his ear. “Let me back in the game.”


	2. The Ending

His eyes rake over her face. Her gaze unyielding. Boring into him. The shyness gone. The predatory look back. Fixed. Like it had never faltered. The confession acquiesced. Now a mere statement of fact. Not completely satisfied with the answer. It would be the only one he would get. His thigh pushes up into her. Causing the denim, to bite down once more. His eyes roll back. _The Veronica effect._

_It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do._

Pleasure and pain. He settles his mind. Pleasure now. Pain tomorrow. “Ok, Bobcat. I’ll play your wicked game.” He rises. Chest to chest. Hand raking into her hair. Pulling at it roughly.

Her lips soften. Smile languid. Her gamble had paid off. Her tongue licks the seam of her lips. Catching her bottom lip between her teeth. He tugs again at her hair. Pulling her head back. Eyes to the ceiling. To run his tongue flat against her skin. Licking his way from her clavicle to her ear and back again. Biting down on the flesh below. Her inhale, ragged. Told him he had found the spot. He feels her scour his scalp. Pushing his mouth. Hard up against her pulse. He sucks deeply. Drawing the sensitive skin into him. _That would leave mark_. The thought gone, as quickly as it came. Hand still buried deeply in her hair. The other biting into her hip. Forcing her to push harder up against him. Her growl vibrates against his lips. Fingers tug at her shirt tail. Riding under the cotton. Scorching heat branding fevered skin. His large hand flexes over the small of her back. Fingers dipping under the waist band.

Hands to his face. She pulls away. Leaning backwards. Affording his hand greater purchase on the lush curve of her ass. Small hands force his face upwards. Looking up at her. Eyes locked. Faces milimetres apart. Her mouth crashes to his. Seizing control. Eyes locked. Intimacy amplified. He smells so familiar to her. _Spicy. Salty. Oceanic. Logan._ He is everything she has been missing. This would be no apology filled, unsatisfying fumble in the darkness. This would be a feast for the senses. Touch. Smell. Sight. Taste and sound. Logan liked to watch. The cool glow of the lamp. Enough to illuminate every movement. Casting shadows across walls. Ceiling. The bed. He liked to breathe her in. Lave her slowly. Tasting. Touching. Telling her what he wants to do to her. How she makes him feel. Teasing every inch of her. She wouldn’t show embarrassment. Not with him. She would raise the stakes. Meet him stroke for masterful stroke. This wasn’t amateur hour. This was the end game.

Releasing her hair. Fingers trail down her neck. Skimming over her front. Nimble fingers. Working each button through its hole. The final one comes away. With both hands he runs the length of her. Hip to clavicle. Thumbs brushing across her nipples as they move. Her breath hitches. It rings across the room. To be swallowed again by his mouth. His tongue sweeping into her. The shirt coming away. Heated hands running down her arms. Pushing the last of the cotton away. He pulls away. To marvel at the sight. Green delicate lace. Almost sheer. Flushed skin. Glowing through the gossamer. Orange ribbon edges barely-there cups. His colours. He eyes her questioningly. “For me?” His voice so low. So husky he can barely hear himself. _Had she dressed herself like his own personal cheerleader?_

Without answering she pulls away. Leaving him to stand. She holds his gaze. Hands resting on her belt. The leather pulling through the buckle. He doesn’t want to leave her gaze. His eyes fall to her hands. He swallows. Adrenaline coursing. Breathing through his nose. To reign himself in. Watching her right hand grasp the buckle. Unthreading the belt in one movement. Allowing it slip to the floor. Kicking out of her shoes. She loses a few inches. He adjusts his eye-line. Picking up her intense stare once more. He can’t look away from the display. The button pops. Zipper teeth separate. She bends. Blocking his view. Wriggling the denim down past her thighs. She looks back up at him then. So he can see. Gauging his reaction. Standing, kicking off the fabric. Stepping back into her shoes. Head tilt. “It’s for you. It’s all for you.”

Logan moans. Sitting up. Legs swinging off the side of the bed. The sight before him is captivating. No longer covered. The result is stunning. Matching green gossamer covers her centre. Orange ribbons. Tied in bows. The only obstacle holding them up. Creamy thighs until the midpoint. Two inches of green encircle each one. More ribbons. Bows, eliciting long tendrils. Down shapely, silk covered legs. Ending in towering black patent heels. His head spun. The goofy girl, in knee highs and grass stains. How those socks had played in his rotation. Now. Stood confident. Demanding his attention. She took his breath away. Her confidence. It radiated. Lighting her skin from within. She knew she looked good. Understood the power she held. Sliding a foot across the carpet. Stance widened. Her look baring down on him. A faint smile playing at her lips. _His_ Veronica is back. The cheeky Veronica. The balls-to-the-wall Veronica. Daring him to touch. To touch her. To play her game. 

At last he moved. Onto his knees. Looking up at her. Eyes almost begging for permission. He wouldn’t make a move without it. Despite this new version. He knew her past. Understood her fear. Hidden behind blue eyes. A serene self-assured mask. He would always request consent. Her tongue licks at her bottom lip. Teeth capturing the now wet skin. A slow blink. A near imperceptible nod. Answers his request. 

His movement is slow. Belying his desperation. Wide hands splay over her feet. Thumbs pressing into the arches. Left exposed by the steep angle of the stilettos. The sleek feel of her stockings. Makes his palms tingle. His eyes track his progress. Memorizing her. Every freckle. Every dip. Every tendon. Mapping her. As he reaches the top of her thighs, she rocks. The slight movement repeats. Circling hips. Searching for friction. The subtle flex of muscle beneath his hands. The shudder. When he cups her ass. Fingers biting. Supple flesh. Eyes now set steadfastly at her apex. A growl. Guttural and low. He pulls her towards him. Face now flush with her. He inhales. Deep and long. Breathing her in. The scent of soap. Underlying the intoxicating scent of arousal. Exhale. Deliberate and slow. Warm heat of his lungs. Heating already warm skin. Blowing through, the sheer fabric. He feels the shudder against his lips. Hips pressing forward. Pressing her sweet centre against him. A sucking inhale. Draws the fabric against his tongue. The taste of her. Consuming. Tantalizing his taste buds. His hunger. His desire.

Pulling away from her. Mind racing. Heart pounding. He slides his hands to her hips. Wrapping the orange ties around his fingers. A shared shudder ripples through them. The ribbons pull. Unfurling with a whisper. The fabric falls away. Pooling at her heeled feet. A collective sigh. Barrier gone. His hands wrap back around her. Biting her now naked skin. His nose runs through the dark curls. He can feel her start to sway. Grip tightens. He tastes her. A flat broad tongue. A slow long stroke. Her hands knitting into his hair. Clit hard against the tip of his tongue. He circles it. Once. Twice. On the third, he sucks down. Her knees buckle. He holds her up. Turning them as he does. Mouth still hot against her. Pushing her onto the bed. She scrambles back. Elbows propping her up. Looking down on his hair-tousled head.

No longer needing to hold her up. The bed allows him to make use of his exquisite fingers. His mouth still flush against her. Circle. Circle. Suck. Keeping in time with that rhythm. He thumbs her entrance. His other hand gliding upwards. Skimming her breast. Finding purchase on the hardened tip. Circle. Circle. Suck. Pinch. He hears her start to hum. Deep and low. Feels her buck her hips against him. Pushing her chest into his touch. He knows she wants more. To be pushed closer to the edge. He could keep her here in this holding pattern for hours. Listening to her purr and growl. _His Bobcat_. He smiles against her. Knowing that she doesn’t growl in the other room. Only he knows the true nature of her being. He ups the anti. Burying a finger deep inside her. Twisting as he pulls away from her, before driving back once more. Circle. Circle. Suck. Pinch. Twist. His name falling from her lips on repeat. A prayer. A mantra. Staccato. Ground out in time to the rhythm he plays against her. Circle. Circle. Suck. Pinch. Twist. Again and again. As he takes her higher. Her body undulating. Seeking the next change.   
  


The next thrust. Slow and deep. Two fingers. Stretching her. Scissoring them on the twist. Hitting her g-spot. Circle. Circle. Suck. Pinch. Scissor. Twist. With every repeat, he feels her tremor harder than the last. His name ringing in his ears. Each time louder than the last. Every lap of his tongue, catching more of her wetness. She is so close. Every thrust met with her tightening around him.

One more game change. He bites down on her. Her hands catch his hair. She jack-knifes from the bed. Cocooning herself around him. Spiked heels digging into his hips. His name replaced with _fuck fuck fuck_. As she rode out her orgasm on his fingers. Kissing her thigh. He arches an eyebrow, “you kiss your Father with that mouth?” 

“No, but I’ll kiss, **you**.” She pulls at him. He obliges. Crawling up from between her thighs. She takes his mouth. Licking and sucking her climax from his skin. Hand on her back. Nimble fingers. Unclipping her bra. Leaving her in the heels and stockings. She makes a move to kick off her shoes.

“Leave them on,” he ground out as he ground into her. 

  
”What about you?” She whispered into his neck. The feel of him fully clothed over her naked frame. Soft and rough in all the right places. The press of his hard on through the denim against her. Has her pushing back into him. Small hands. Brushing up and under cashmere. Tracing the toned planes of his torso.

Rocking back on his heels. He sits up. Hands behind his head. Pulling at the neckline. Shucking the sweater away from him. He looks down at her. She is beautiful. On display.

She grabs hold of his belt buckle. Using it as leverage. Pulling herself upward. “Still too many clothes, mister.” As she did for her own. Quick fingers, make light work. Leather pulling through loops. The sound of it hitting the floor. Muffled. Against thick carpet. She looks at the bulge pressing through his jeans. Running her hand up it. Twisting onto her knees. Thumb circling the top button. Almost caressing. “I hope your distaste for underwear is still a thing.” Top button disengages. 

Holding her gaze. He smirks. A jackass grin. “Naturally, unless it’s on you. All wrapped up like my personal cheerleader.” 

“Hmmm, then how is it that I’m not wearing any?” Giving him an eat-shit-grin. Eyes still on his. She places a chaste kiss against his mouth. Hands on the waistband. Either side of the fly. Flick of the wrist. Buttons pop in quick succession. Only now does she look away. To look down. To wrap her hand around him. Head tilt. She looks back at him. Measuring him up. Feeling the weight of him.

“Satisfied?” Moving to free himself from the jeans. 

“Not yet.” Her hand giving a firm pump. “But, I will be.” Releasing him. Hands now to his chest. Twisting them both. She straddles his hips. Circling her hips over him once more. Now skin to skin. Hard veined heat. Against slicked softness. Every lap, grazes her clit over the head of his cock. Every graze makes her body pulse. Her walls deep inside clench. 

Pitching his hips upward. Kicking off the remanence of his jeans. His hands clutch at her legs, as she meets him in a downward thrust. Matching groans fill the room. She lifts away from him once again, he reaches between them. Taking his now wet cock in hand. He angles upward. This time the downward circle captures his throbbing head. Steering her hips down. She engulfs him in one motion. Throwing her head back. A loud groaning exultant “yes!” Bouncing off the walls. Logan hastens his hand to her mouth. To cover the noise escaping her throat. Not interested in being chastised. Veronica bites down. Teeth sinking into the palm of his hand. Logan rolls his eyes towards the shared wall with the next bedroom. He feels her laugh against his hand. Hot damp air. Heating his skin. “Let him listen. He better be taking notes.” The honey tone of her voice. Coating acidic intent. 

Logan pauses. A second of doubt flickering through his mind. Banished the minute she grinds down on him again. Slow and tortuous. He wants to close his eyes. But he can’t look away. Her slender form rocking above him. Looking down. Boldly holding his gaze. Staring into him. Like she could see his soul. All his secrets. There was only one that mattered. But she knew it now. Blue against brown. Nothing in between. His love and awe of her on display. He swallows. Feeling an uncharacteristic blush heating his skin. Self conscious, he fingers the tops of her stockings. 

Feeling his childhood tell. Veronica dips down. Eyes never leaving his. Taking his mouth again. Suckling his lower lip. As she lets it slip between her teeth, she whispers. “I’ve got you.” Settling her hands against his. She slows his movements. “I’ve got you,” she purrs again. His fingers still. Hands flatten out against her. He is still uneasy. His eyes still troubled. She kisses him again sweetly. Eye contact never breaking. Licking into his mouth once more. Teasing his tongue with her own. Feeling his body relax beneath her. His hands pressing into her. Anchoring her against him. She doesn’t move. She contracts herself around him. A movement imperceptible to the human eye. But one that Logan feels with every inch of his being. She sucks his tongue into her mouth. And tightens around him again. Setting an exquisitely slow pace.

Foreheads pressing together. Eyes locked. Nibbling kisses. Rediscovering each other, with every taste. The sound of their laboured breathing fills the room. Humidity surrounds. Skin damp. Slick to the touch.

Veronica’s keening hums start to out run the sound of ragged breath. On instinct he thrusts up into her. Smiling against the shell of her ear as she declares her satisfaction. No longer concerned with ears in the other room. Making no move to thrust again. His smug mouth starts talking. “Did you like that, Bobcat?” Her muscles clench around him in answer. Pushing up on her hands either side of his head. She leverages herself back against him. Snorting with frustration when he doesn’t push back up to meet her. She circles her hips once more. Grinding down hard. Pelvic bones pressing into to each other. He rewards her with a twitch of his cock, but nothing more. Chuckling against her ear. When her face crinkles in consternation. He repeats the action.

This time she growls when she doesn’t get the driving thrust she wants. Head tilt. She rocks against him. Once. Twice. On the third she sneers when he puts his hands behind his head. Lacing his fingers together. Laughing eyes looking up at her. Twitch. “Do you always get what you want, Mars?” Twitch. “Does anyone, ever say no to you?” Twitch.

Her chest heaving. Hips rocking restlessly. Seeking out the friction she needs. “You could try, but I’m pretty sure I have you, right where I want you.” 

“Is that so?” Twitch. “Tell me about it. Where exactly do you want me?” Twitch. For a second her confidence wanes. She almost looks away. To keep her focused. He circles his hips. Her mouths falls open. “Tell me.” Twitch. “Show me.” Twitch. “Show me.” Circle. “What you want.” Thrust.

She breaks eye contact. Eyes rolling back into her head. Feeling him throb deep inside her. Inhaling deeply through her nose. To keep herself steady. She shutters her eyes. Swallowing. Before opening them once more. To return the intensity of his eyes on her. A smile curving her lips. Reaching up for his hands. Unthreading them from behind his head. “I want you to touch me.” Guiding his right hand down her chest as she rises. Sitting up on him. Changing the angle. Contracting around him once more. She closes his hand around her breast. Arching her back into his touch. The angle changes again. Pushing her downwards. Impaling her further. 

He cups her breast. Marveling at combined fingers massaging pearlescent skin. Large tanned hand. Dwarfing hers. She manipulates his fingers. To capture her nipple. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Friction at last. A sigh of satisfaction. She has his left hand clutched to her thigh. Need more. Guiding their idle hands to her centre. Pressing his thumb to her clit. He circles against it. Eyes locked on each other. “Now, fuck me.” Voiced low and husky.

Logan drives up into her. The growl she elicits, is something he wants to hear on repeat. His favourite song. He watches her. Back arching. Hair cascading. Skin flushing. He releases her breast. To anchor her hip. Fingers biting. Thumb of the other. Turning lazy circles. Against her core.   
  


She bites her lip. Watching him. His eyes intense. Dilated. Chest rising. Breath quickening. Pace increasing. She takes it all in. Watching him. Watching her. As he pushes up into her again and again. She moans. Trying to stave off the inevitable. To hold out. But he is everywhere. Deep inside her. Filling her. Stretching her. Pushing her. Towards the highest high. Heat radiating from her centre. Flooding her veins. Pulsing through her. Her hands on herself. Searching for more contact. Palming her breasts. In time with every thrust. Teasing her nipples. With each flick of his thumb. Intensity amplifying. Heat scorching. Thrust. Flick. Thrust. Flick. Thrust. Flick.

Logan can feel her tightening around him. Every drive of his hips. She is closer to the edge. When he watched her palm her breasts. Pinching her nipples between her fingers. He almost saw white. Sucking air in through his nose. Long and deep. Regaining control. He wanted. _No._ He needed this to last. His world was on fire. Heat Flame. Veronica. One more maddening round and he would have her. Begging. Thrust. Flick. And he hears her. “Lo, Lo, Lo.” Each utterance. Breathy. Primal. Increasing in volume and pitch. “Come for me, Bobcat.” Through gritted teeth. Pushing his thumb hard against her. He watches as she explodes. Head dropping back. Eyes rolling heavenwards. She’s falling against his chest. Wrapping his arms around her. Rolling them over. Her hair flaring across the pillow. Sucking in air.

  
He starts in earnest to chase down his own pleasure. Hooking an ankle over his shoulder. Surging into her. Over and over. Until he loses his rhythm. As he loses himself in her. The feel of her beneath him. His hold on his climax failing. Her mouth against his telling him to let go. All restraint is lost. He falls. Over the edge. Oblivion. It’s just him and her. Wrapped in each other. Riding out his climax, his mouth finds her ear. “I love you, Bobcat.” 

  
”I know,” is all she concedes. 

_What a wicked thing to say you never felt that way._   
  


He wakes. A tangle of sheets. Shackling.

 _What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you._

Her name in his lips. His hand fisted around his now spent cock. The syrupy stickiness of his climax running down his stomach.

_I don’t wanna fall in love with you._

Too late.

 _This girl is gonna break your heart._

His heart lay in pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry!  
> Some of you most definitely guessed right!


End file.
